In which Everything Goes Wrong
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Harry Potter is trying to be a Hero. When Harry met Dumbledore at Kings Cross Station, he took the train back to the past. There have been a few slight detours along the way - for one, Harry James Potter is now a Dark Lord.
1. The littlest Dark Lord

Harry Potter sat on a throne. At age fourteen, he was pretty sure he was the littlest Dark Lord _ever_.

Literally.

He always was small for his age - Muggles kept on mistaking him for being eleven, which was really too young to be out and about London by yourself. So they'd offer to find his parents, and then he'd have to tell the good lady his parents were dead (curse his inability to lie!), and that always ruined her day.

He turned to his sinister man, Severus Snape, and asked, "Now what?" Snape gave him a _why the hell are you asking me _look, which might have stirred some emotion in Harry if it didn't look strikingly like Snape's generalized dour glare.

Because, despite being a Dark Lord, Harry had _no idea_ what the hell he was doing. Things were **Not Supposed** to go this way.

In front of him, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange simpered - wriggled, really - ready to kiss the hem of his robe. His very well-made, very green robe. Malfoy said it flattered his eyes, and Harry, for lack of other options, was willing to go along with it. Bellatrix certainly seemed to like it.

Harry knew better than to ask Draco Malfoy, who stood at his right, for ideas. They'd involve killing Dumbledore or something else world-destabilizing.

Harry was now a Dark Lord. Didn't mean he had to like it.

How had things gone so wrong?

[a/n: This is a time travel story, in which Harry makes decisions, and things get steadily worse. Up next: an extended flashback.

But only if you review! This is just a stub, and I'm asking if you like it enough to want me to write more.]


	2. Back to the Past

Harry was in King's Cross Station, somehow. The last thing he remembered was the words "Avada Kedavra."

It was a misty place, and suddenly Dumbledore loomed out of the mist, sitting on a nearby bench.

Dumbledore said gently, "Ahh... Harry, I've been waiting for you."

"You have?" Harry asked, coming over and sitting beside Dumbledore. His legs still swung beneath him. _Always a little too short, Potter..._

"Yes. You see, you have a decision to make." Albus said firmly.

Harry just looked at the old man. "I have so many things to ask you..." Chief among which was _Why Snape?_

"Yes, but our time grows short. You can board the train, and go meet your parents, or you can choose to go back." Dumbledore said.

Harry looked, looked at the train that Dumbledore pointed to. And then he saw, behind it, the other side of the tracks - lights coming closer. There was another train, not one that led to his parents at all. And he remembered Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black, and even Severus Snape...

He jumped to his feet. Harry ran, jumping between the rails and clamboring up onto the other side. The train rushed so quickly by that it whooshed through his hair.

It stopped, Harry dashed onto the nearly empty train, waving at Dumbledore, who seemed to smile sadly at him.

Harry was going _back_. To the _past_.

* * *

Harry woke up in the cupboard under the stairs, and his mind reeled. He was too small, and too young.

He wasn't really prepared for this.

Sitting up, he decided that until Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon decided to wake him, he could get some planning done.

How he missed Hermione! She'd already know what he could do to fix the world. She always knew when things were broken, and how to fix them.

The top of his list _needed_ to be ending Dark Lord Voldemort.

But that had prerequisites, and more on top of those.

For one thing, how was an eleven year old supposed to find a Horcrux?

Nobody trusted an eleven year old on the street without supervision.

Ergo, Harry needed supervision.

Enter one Sirius Black.

Of course, Harry still needed to get him out of prison... And that would be a trick and a half, wouldn't it?

Nowhere near as hard as fiendfyre, or a basilisk. And Harry'd managed those ... mostly okay, right?

[a/n: What's next? Leave a review?]


	3. Going diagonally

Harry thought he had his act together, when Uncle Vernon took him off to that island in the North sea. Then he realized that he'd left all his notes on the wall. Oh, well, he thought, I can always remember them.

Hagrid was just as Harry remembered him. Warm and loving, and like a bear when angered. Uncle Vernon was, sadly, a little to adept at angering Rubeus Hagrid to see the man's gentle side.

They took the boat, and Harry, belatedly, realized that meant Hagrid was leaving the motorcycle - would Uncle Vernon really fit on it? If Hagrid had managed...

Harry, in the end, decided it didn't matter. He was just a child, after all.

The next day, Harry hit paydirt. Literally. In Gringotts, he had all the gold he ever could want. He just had to take advantage of Hagrid to get it. In his vault, Harry asked question after question - what's this? Was this from my grandparents? Hagrid would turn, and pick up even the heaviest chest. And when his back was turned, Harry would stuff gold in his socks, or his pockets. He'd stuffed them with enough batting to hope they wouldn't all clink.

Harry was a smart teenager, trying to act like an ordinary boy, baffled with the fame he'd gotten.

Harry thanked Hagrid for his owl, and managed to avoid changing anything, except for getting some ice cream. Because, surely he couldn't break the timeline by getting ice cream?

Harry thought differently, though - he could see the inherent nervousness in Malfoy's incessant drawling. A kid who isn't certain he's going to be someone his parents will be proud of.

Harry also got his first real glance at the bookstore. He hadn't realized there were so many books for kids his age! No wonder Hermione was always reading (by the time kid-Harry had gotten to know her, she'd graduated to long tomes that Harry was certain he _still_ couldn't understand).

Harry went to sleep that night at Uncle Vernon's, thinking hard about those books. They tempted him with knowledge. Surely, if he was smarter, it wouldn't be world-wrecking, would it?

Harry's notes the next morning confirmed he did not do anything earthbreaking. He'd just gotten more money.

Still, Harry knew that money alone did nothing but rot. It was one of the only things Uncle Vernon had taught him.

Sod it all, Harry was _going_ to get those books, even if he had to burn them before he went to Hogwarts.

Now, he just had to get there...

[a/n: Couldn't resist him getting more gold. Haven't outlined a plot for this yet, so gold's a decent security.

but as Harry says, you can't use gold without consequences.

Leave a review?]


	4. To London

Somewhat surprisingly, having relatives that hate you is not actually conducive to sneaking off to London.

Harry knew that his aunt and uncle would be completely wroth to hear about him sneaking away.

So, he did them one better.

He _ran away_.

Complete with suitably dramatic note - the sort Uncle Vernon would laugh until he cried over.

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_As I'm certain you're aware, I know that you hate me._

_I know that you can't stand me, and that you'd rather never have met me._

_I've decided that living anywhere other than here would be preferable to your neglect._

_Besides, you give me so many chores that I haven't had time for fun in years!_

The 'overly entitled nephew' bit went on for quite a bit after that - Harry's experience with Severus Snape gave him plenty of ammunition.

The truth, along with the falsehoods, would have Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia laughing - and not just for sheer relief that their weird nephew wasn't coming home.

It was Saturday. On Saturday, a child on a train is not an entirely unremarkable thing, and when someone stopped Harry, he could always say, "My mum's in the loo." Besides, Harry was a slight and small child, and _very_ good at not being noticed.

Getting to London was easy. Finding Diagon Alley? That was quite a lot more difficult. Luckily, Harry had pocketed a "Muggleborn Guide" in the bookstore, which gave him... directions. Not that he had an auto, but... if you gave most adults a map, they'd at least point you where you wanted to go.

Diagon was a different place without Hagrid. Luckily, Harry had planned for this - his experience with people mobbing him had led him to find a ski-cap, and wear that over his head. Wizarding folk had little sense of fashion, so this would pass unremarked.

Harry bought the books that caught his eye, and a good few that didn't. Wizarding Manners, Comportment and Composure, and a basic guide to Mind Magic were things he didn't want to learn, but knew he had to. He got an entire encylopedia on Wizarding law, and all 7 years of coursebooks. Then he moved onto the apprenticeship books (one per Master, so Charms had a gadzillion. Harry plucked two that looked reasonable)

He left, and bought some ice cream.

Then he left Diagon entirely, and proceeded to the nearest public library. It was the perfect place to be caught by the police.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were already going to assign more chores, so Harry being hauled back by the London police didn't make his life any harder on him. He'd made sure there were no burns (from cooking) or bruises (mostly from Dudley), so it wasn't even like the police wanted anything to do with the Dursleys. They just wanted to do a pro-forma interview, and promptly concluded that Harry was a spoiled child.

Harry managed to shrink his books and hide them under the stairs, where he would occasionally read them - when he wasn't drowning under chores. It was a difficult balance, but Harry was aware that any bit of knowledge could save his butt.

[a/n: Guesses as to House? Up Next: Train and Sorting.]


	5. I can pick my friends for myself

Harry Potter had connived to get to Kings Station just at the same time as last time - he'd tossed his bags in the boot early, and then burnt the bacon just enough that Dudley had wanted a new batch, but Uncle Vernon was happy to eat his share. "Good bacon, boy," Uncle Vernon cried, in an unreasonably good mood - no doubt because their unloved houseguest would cease bothering them for nearly a year.

Harry could sympathize, of course - he'd never wanted to be in the Dursleys' household, either.

Molly Weasley found him right outside the barrier, and gave him the same advice. He ran in, and was greeted by the ever-rowdy Twins, who were happy to help both him and Ron put their trunks on the train, before they capered off to find Jordan and his new tarantula. Harry caught Ron's shudder at even the mention of the big spider, this time. With some relief, they both sat down in an empty cabin.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron asked with his usual affability and lack of self-consciousness.

"Yeah, that's me," Harry said, trying to smile. It probably came off as strained - his first time on the train, it had been novel to be stared at, to be famous. Now, it brought back memories of the Creeveys - or of Malfoy selling fake-autographed pictures of Harry Potter; not to mention the shadow of Lockhart lurking in the background.

Harry had _never_ wanted to be famous.

"Can I see your scar?" Ron said.

Harry's breath caught, and before he could swipe his locks to one side or the other, Ron's outstretched hand was holding them aloft. It felt really awkward.

Hermione bustled in, with Neville on her heels, "Has anyone seen a toad?" She was her normal bossy self - though Harry'd clear forgotten how grating eleven-year-old Hermione was.

"Nope," Harry responded, restraining a welcoming smile that would have seemed creepy to give to someone he'd just met.

And then Malfoy was at the door, casting a dismissive eye over the pile of candy wrappers in the middle of the floor. "Longbottom," he nodded to Neville. He looked at Harry Potter, almost intrigued - in a lazy Dudley sort of way, "Are you really Harry Potter."

"I am." Harry responded strongly. Malfoy understood strength, so that was what Harry would give him.

"You," Draco Malfoy said, his eyes fixed on Hermione, "I don't _know_ you."

"I'd imagine not. I'm Muggleborn." Hermione said firmly.

"Oh," Draco Malfoy intoned, as if he'd been caught talking to shit clinging to the bottom of his sole.

"With that ginger head, and those handmedown robes, you must be a Weasley." Draco Malfoy sneered.

"Spoilt and -" Ron had barely started his tirade, when Neville discretely stepped on Ron's foot.

"Oops!" Neville said, blushing. "Gran always says I need to watch where I step."

"Next time," Harry said with a grin, "Find Malfoy's feet. He started it."

Hermione, of all people, let out a surprised guffaw at that.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy in question said, holding out his hand, "I can help show you who your friends are."

"I can find my own friends, thanks," Harry Potter responded, smiling brightly at Draco Malfoy - if only to make the other boy uneasy.

[a/n: A few more people in there than the books had. Oh, well, I loved the dialogue. Reviews, please?

Harry's changes here aren't much - at least according to him. Snape'd have a fit, but he's always treated Potter like he's some sort of Gryffindor Dumbass.]


	6. Making friends

Harry Potter sat in a boat, along with Neville and Hermione and Ron, as it slid over the water. They saw Hogwarts for the first time - the grand old castle, full of so many memories. Harry kinda wanted to run up and give the whole big castle a hug.

_First time here._ He reminded himself, getting off the boat and following Hagrid up the hill. McGonagall met them at the door. Harry hadn't really listened to McGonagall the first time, he'd been so busy dealing with the crowd, and orienting himself to being in a Real Castle, with suits of armor - and ghosts!

Hermione sounded just as swotty as he'd remembered, informing Ron that it wasn't a troll that sorts you.

And then it was time - all the children filed in. Harry tried to hide, halfway, in the middle where no one could pick him out. It was inevitable that people were going to stare - he was going to have his name announced, and sit on a bloody stool with a hat, for Merlin's sake!

But, for the precious halycon moments between Abbott and Bones and Parkinson, he could pretend. He could not be stared at.

... and more importantly, he could watch.

He knew things he didn't, last go round.

Quirrel looked nervous and twitchy, mostly - but that was normal, and normal was probably good. He was acting to keep his true nature under wraps, and that meant that he was still trying to find the Stone.

With his usual sneer, Snape studied everyone carefully - even the children who were clearly going to be Hufflepuffs. _He has them all for class, doesn't he?_ Harry thought, _I've taught kids from three of the four houses, and it does pay to know as much as you can about them. _He cut himself off with a snort, _Not that Snape ever knew a damned thing about me! Even after he had permission to peer in my bloody skull!_

Dumbledore watched everything with a genial, if negligent, look. _He's been to how many sorting ceremonies?_

Parkinson, the posh girl with the horribly stuck-up nose, was sent to Slytherin, who tended to be quiet. Harry saw someone pumping his arms in the air - in Gryffindor this would have been accompanied by a raucous cheer - but the lad managed to make the gesture dead silent.

"Harry Potter," Prof. McGonagall said, looking at the unsorted students. Harry stepped out of the shadow of Ron (always taller than he was), and sidestepped around the dark-skinned soon-to-be-Slytherin boy.

Harry sat down on the stool - his feet didn't hit the floor, and McGonagall placed the hat on his head. It promptly nearly tipped over - Harry caught it, and stuffed it down lower - it fell onto his shoulders, and he got to smell the grease of a thousand heads.

_Oh, thanks muchly, _The Sorting Hat responded, _Couldn't see about getting me cleaned, now could you?_

_I wouldn't know how, _Harry Potter responded, _Don't the professors take care of that?_

_Try a petition? On behalf of concerned soon-to-be students?_

_And what should I put on it?_

_That the Sorting Hat hasn't been washed in half a millenia, and is starting to smell rancid and think just a little differently. Why, if the Sorting Hat isn't cleaned, it might do something unpredictable with the next Weasley!_

_They all go to Gryffindor, don't they?_

_Nearly. _The Sorting Hat said, sounding stern. _Don't be copping no Innocent attitude with me, young sir. You are unique, you realize?_

_Unique? I'm just Harry..._

_Harry two-lives, boy who lived, Gryffindor Quiddich star._

It was that last one that made Harry freeze.

_You know? _Harry asked, heart in his gut.

_Last time, you pleaded, you schemed to find your way to Gryffindor._

_I told you you could be great..._

_Now I'll see that you will be._

"Slytherin!" the hat proclaimed.

The hall was dead silent. Several Slytherins were craning their heads, staring in disbelief. Harry caught a few Hufflepuffs deflating, as if they'd thought Harry Potter might take them to glory. Most of the Ravenclaws were reading smuggled books - even a hero couldn't compare to the lure of the next paragraph. The Gryffindors looked baffled, or upset. Only the Twins looked worried. And that look on their faces should have worried him.

Harry walked to the Slytherin table, thinking only of doom. He... couldn't do this, from Slytherin, could he?

As Harry sat down, Draco Malfoy sent him a relieved smile, "You'll find good friends in Slytherin."

_Shite, he thinks he's my friend now._

Harry's eyes turned instinctively up at the Head Table. In the quiet of the room (Someone else was being sorted), Harry caught the unusual sight of Severus Snape, smiling.

Harry's mind broke, and it was only residual determination that kept hot wet tears from sliding down his face. _I will not let them see me cry._

[a/n: Gotten a bit sick of every single story about Harry Potter in Slytherin setting Draco up as an antagonist. Sometimes it works fine, but...

Please leave a review!]


	7. How long does a feast last, anyway?

Well, thought Harry, there's all my plans shot to shit, gone to hell and come out the other side.

I don't think Ron will ever be my friend now...

I'm not sure that I _can _actually defeat the Dark Lord without my friends... without Hermione...

Inside him, a leonine voice growled, _Remember the first lesson._

Yeah? What's that?

_Survive._

Right then. Harry thought. They haven't finished the sorting yet. I have until then to decide on a basic plan.

I'm in bloody Slytherin, home of the Death Eaters' children. Guess I shouldn't have been so quick to reject Malfoy - Draco. I'm going to need as many allies as I can possibly gather - because some of these children - near adults, have an axe to grind against me.

How many of their parents did my parents kill?

I killed their fucking Dark Lord!

Hat, you said I could be great - let's hope it's not a great big stain on the Common Room floor.

Great, that ghastly, gloomy room. I'd forgotten.

Agenda: Make Friends.

Sub-agenda: Don't Make Enemies unnecessarily.

Harry had sat with the first years, at the end of the table. A quick glance up it, told him just what he'd thought - they were sorted roughly by age, with the girls on one side, and the boys on the other.

I recognize the children from my year. And the Quidditch team. That's about it.

A few soon-to-be prefects, but that just tells me who is cunning, or rich, or special.

Good allies, but folks that don't need me.

I've already got a target on my back...

Why would they bother being my friend?

The Quidditch team. Home of Flint - who got held back, at least once.

Hmm... I can work with that.

The Slytherin team may have walked the edge of cheating the entire time I knew them, but they were tough brutes even then. Scrappers spoilin' for a fight.

I need to get them on my side - and I can't use my broomstick to do it.

Flint needs help - but I'm a first year. It's not like I can teach him magic.

Wait.

Not all our classes are magic, are they?

I bet the Quidditch team doesn't turn down homework help (or Free Homework Services), even from a firstie.

How hard can studying for History of Magic be, anyway?

The first rule of friendship is be valuable. It was why Hermione nagged so much - she was worried we'd leave her out of everything.

Harry heard the last Slytherin be sorted - Zambini, of all the names. Blaise, now. _I can't keep calling them by their last names, it's standoffish._

Dumbledore stood to give his announcements - the older Slytherins rolled their eyes at the third floor corridor remarks - a stark contrast to the Gryffindors, particularly the twins, who'd looked entranced and excited.

Harry dove into the feast with a will - he knew he was underfed, and he needed his strength. Besides, eating hearty was just another game. All the other boys were doing it, he'd be _noticed_ if he didn't.

Harry snuck a glance up at Snape, his new head of House. He looked contemplative, staring down the table of Slytherins. _At least he's stopped smiling._

Soup, buttered bread, more fruit than Harry could shake a stick at. He was eating gobs, but it was light fare. _My stomach won't accept anything more, not right now._

There were introductions all round - Tracey seemed nice, and Daphne seemed... proper. Pansy still seemed a right bitch, but Millicent had a warm, robust laugh. Theo was silent except for his name, the entire meal. And Draco had been trying to draw the other boy out... Blaise kept mostly quiet, but any question he was asked, he answered. Goyle and Crabbe - no, Greg and Vince - were too busy eating to be worth drawing into conversation - the only time Draco had tried, he got crumbs sprayed on his robes.

[a/n: It's not a long plan, but it's at least a sound one. Now Harry has to implement it. Leave a review?

Did you expect a hue and cry? It's coming...]


	8. Down into the Dungeons

Every step down into the dungeons carried with it a pebble of fear.

Each one of them rested on Harry's heart, until he thought they would all fall down.

His life was in danger - active, real danger. Worse-than-Voldemort danger.

Everyone sleeps sometime - and the best shot he had at protection was Draco Malfoy.

... and Draco Malfoy was a coward.

... wasn't he?

Harry had to believe that it took at least a little courage to take the Dark Mark, right?

It was a frail and perfectly stupid hope.

But he was going to need hope, to live in a House with Death Eaters.

Could Snape protect him? Harry wondered, consciously steering away from Would Snape protect him, because the answer was obviously not.

More important, than the fear, was the guilt.

He'd come back to fix things, to make things better.

How in Hades was he going to do that in Slytherin House?

He'd fucked the timeline up down and through the arse.

He needed Draco Malfoy, Harry regretfully had to conclude, at least for now.

And Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley went together like oil and water. There was no way he could have both in his life, as they were true enemies. Harry felt the edges of despair nip at him, hitting him harder than Dementors, as he knew this was real, this was his real feeling.

They arrived, following Gretchen, and she smiled, saying, "This is the entrance to our common room. You hiss the password at the snake." Then she started to hiss, an elongated form that sounded more like Morse Code.

_And it said Welcome._

Thank you Gretchen, Harry thought, with a belated grin as he passed her. I do have more than just my wits about me, don't I? Perhaps I wouldn't need to be a Dark Lord, but it's nice to know that I can terrify even Slytherins. Maybe they'd worship me?

These are just crazy fantasies, of course, don't I know it! Harry thought.

On Gretchen's instruction, they lined up in two rows, boys and girls together. The second through seventh years filed in, standing in an organized near-circle around the firsties, looking at the Common Room door. Harry felt one of the older students nudge him, and heard a whispered, "Watch yourself." He couldn't have told you, even if he'd seen the face, whether that was a warning, a threat, or a caution.

Snape always liked to make a dramatic entrance, so it didn't surprise Harry when Snape materialized seemingly out of thin air, not at the entrance, but from a nearby shadowy corner.

"Welcome to Slytherin House, the house of the Cunning and the Ambitious. Soon we shall see if you are either, or both. If you are not, I suggest you find a patron, and cling to their boots, in the hope they might lift you up. In that, you should take care to choose wisely.

Outside of this room, outside of your dormitories, you will behave as if you are all of one body. Support and aid to each other is essential. No feud, no plan, no scheme is more important than this.

Snape flourished a stick out of his robes, looked at the first years, and gave it to Goyle - Greg. "Break it," Snape said.

Greg did, just by bending his hands.

Snape pulled twenty sticks out from his other sleeve (which must have been rather full of them), and tapped his wand, tying them together. "Break that."

Greg tried, even using his leg. "I can not."

"Anyone else care to give a go?" Snape sneered.

Harry knew better than to try - it was an obvious trap.

"Remember this. Our unity is our safeguard." Snape said. "You will behave in such a way to bring honor and respect to our house. This comes above any petty schemes that you might devise. Your prefects will instruct you should you be behaving in an unworthy manner."

Snape sighed, "There is yet one more rule." He gestured to the older students.

They repeated in unison, "Don't Get Caught."

Snape dropped his stern, professorial mien - displaying something markedly... more civil, if no less abrupt and dispassionate. "I hardly think I need to say this, but you may settle all disputes within the confines of the common room. You will, however, bring shame upon yourselves if I catch three seventh years fighting with a first year." Snape smirked, "And there will be consequences." Snape smirked, and left.

_Now, _Harry thought, hiding his own smirk, _that was interesting... He didn't need to say that._ _Impartial partiality - how like the bastard!_

[a/n: Leave a review? Snape's always a treat to write. He is not going to be openly in Harry's court here, but... neither is he exactly displeased to see Potter in his house. Better than a foolhardy Gryffindor, which he'd been dreading.]


	9. The Challenge

Drue Rosier stood up, stretched like a cat, and said, "I'm Drue Rosier, 7th year prefect. Malc over there is the other 7th year prefect."

"Malcolm, if you value your tongues," Malcolm gave a smooth grin, "And the last name's Lanning."

"You won't hear us talk to you, unless you're in trouble." Drue said, "So do your best to be good little snakelings and stay out of trouble."

Malcolm, who seemed more taciturn, said, "Fifth year prefects, this is your lot. Second years, you'll be reporting to the Sixth year prefects. We'll take the third years, and the rest of you - fend for yourselves."

Drue snickered, "Or ask any of the prefects, really. We will succeed, and we will do so together."

The repartee was almost endearing, Harry Potter thought.

"Ellisith Henry," the fifth year prefect said, shaking her long ravenblack hair - though it was her vivid black eyes that sparkled. "You each get a dormroom, and they're small. They're all small, so don't fight and don't complain. Boys to the left, girls to the right."

Harry turned to pick out a room. Not that it mattered much, they were in the dungeons.

"Not you, Potter," Drue said, barring her way with her arm.

Everyone else stopped and looked at Drue. "Mister Harry Potter, I formally challenge you to a duel."

Harry looked up at her, and said, "Prefect Rosier, will you explain what rights and decisions I have in this match? May I choose the terms? The weapons? The time and place?"

Drue shrugged, "It's a magical duel, Potter. Your weapon is your wand, use of other weapons will not be tolerated. The time's now, of course."

Harry asked, "Any other rules?"

Stretching a sadistic smile across her face, Drue said, "Not really."

Harry asked, "May I propose one?"

Drue nodded, quietly curious.

Harry responded, "No unforgivables."

Around them, the Slytherins - who hadn't left the entertainment, which was all of them - stirred.

Drue laughed, "Potter, that was already part of the rules."

Harry Potter nodded, and continued, "For our continued well-being, is there a Healer in the room? I trust that injuries acquired during duels do not go to the infirmary."

Malcolm laughed, "He's right about that."

A tall Slytherin (who looked like she was in 7th year) stood up, "Drue, give it a rest, at least for today. I won't have you ruining my beauty sleep before the first day of class. Let the poor boy at least learn one spell before you wipe the floor with him."

"Addison," Drue said.

"No, next week. Same time, same place." Addison said firmly. She looked over at Harry, and asked, "I'd wish you luck, but luck won't save you against her. So, safe travels."

Harry Potter walked into the farthest room, the other first years giving him space. He liked it there, it was defensible. Didn't have to look both ways. This whole formal dueling was both a gift and a curse. It would let him show off his non-existent skills, but it also meant that there was a formalized method for settling disputes. He could expect to use it himself, if he was clever enough.

He lay out a piece of parchment, on a board on his bed, ready to start laying out plans.

There was a knock at his door.

Draco Malfoy stood there, grinning, "Your first duel! Are you excited?"

Harry Potter shook his head, "Terrified, really." It was a lie, but a believable one.

Draco Malfoy chuckled, "I wouldn't be. Snape won't let them murder you, and - at the end of the day, pain's just pain."

"It's a good philosophy," Harry said, leaping up and punching Malfoy in the gut.

"Ooof!" Draco said, "Why'd you do that?"

"You should learn to practice what you preach." Harry said, trying in vain to slick his hair back. And... miracle of all miracles, Malfoy had practiced what he preached. That was worth some extensive thought.


	10. Father Complex

Harry was glad to see Draco's backside. It had only taken not responding for what seemed like hours, but was probably only about thirty minutes. _I shouldn't hold this against him. He's an only child, and a spoilt one at that. What kind of a Slytherin doesn't pick up on hints?_

The answer struck him like a bolt out of the deep. _The kind that has a lot to learn._

Harry closed his door, not needing any other distractions._ Everything_ in his life had just changed, and he needed to figure out what to do.

Worse, he had to put all the choices on the table. Even the scary ones, like becoming a practitioner of the Dark Arts and maybe losing his mind. There were a lot of things he'd need to do, just to stay alive. But, the big choices? They were important, and needed to be made _now_. If you didn't know where you were going, how would you know when you were lost? turned around? headed backward?

Harry wanted to stay in the Light. _Walk in the light, wherever you may be. Walk in the glory of the light said he, in my old leather jacket and my shaggy shaggy locks, I am walking in the glory of the light said fox._

It wasn't the only choice, and in Slytherin, it was a fraught and fractious point.

He could try and strike a path that was Grey - or was that Gray? Harry couldn't spell, half the time. It was frustrating.

When it came right down to it, Harry was afraid - afraid of losing his mind, of making choices that weren't really his. Idly, he wondered if that was why Snape always seemed wound so tight. Guarding against one's own mind seemed a particular version of hell...

Harry Potter could ask his Head of House, the ever formidable (Scary!) Severus Snape.

However, he found himself unable to talk himself out of the "He'd spank me!" argument.

Knowledge was power, sure, Harry thought, And if you want knowledge, you look to the Ravenclaws.

Or to Hermione Granger, Harry thought with a grin.

It would be ... hard... to be friends with Hermione, wouldn't it?

Snape had had such a hard time being friends with Lily, hadn't he?

Hard never stopped Harry, though. If Malfoy wanted to make something of it, Harry would burn any nascent friendship to the ground.

And then salt the earth beneath.

_But, if Draco Malfoy is truly just a stupid eleven-year-old with a Father Complex..._

There was always another path, and Harry wondered, just for a moment, if he could actually take it.

Ron didn't matter, Harry thought in a perplexed tone. This was a new thought for him, and a very painful one. He wasn't going to get Ron back. Ron hated Slytherins, and Malfoy in particular.

And Harry couldn't afford to alienate Malfoy, not right now.

[a/n: review?]


	11. Snowball's Change

Harry had fallen asleep still thinking about Ron and Malfoy. It had been a loong day, after all.

He rose before the sun, in the falsedawn that he'd always loved, before coming to Hogwarts. It had taken him days, every year, to adjust to Gryffindor's late timetable.

No reason he had to do that here, Harry thought. The Slytherins seemed much more punctual, and always had. Probably would offend their honor or some such dross if they missed an appointment.

Harry showered and dressed.

So, all his plans were shot to... well now.

Nothing new there.

Time to get started making new ones.

His first order of business, now that he was at Hogwarts, was to figure out exactly what his capabilities were.

Stepping out into the Slytherin Common Room, he looked at the dark elegance - for it was graceful and calming, even as it looked strict. A tall young lady with dull-brown hair looked up from her book, at him.

"Early riser?" she asked.

"Always," Harry said with a grin.

She smiled back, and said, "There's plenty of chairs, so sit on the floor!"

Harry nodded, executed an overly-affected bow, and said, "Thank you, milady, but I have business about the castle at large. I dare not tarry."

She frowned, setting her book down. "Where are you headed, before your first class, even?"

"Exploring," Harry said, as it would make sense that a firstie would want to explore the castle.

"Wonderful!" She said, and Harry detected a thread of 'couldn't you just stay here.' But there was the essence of practicality, and not hostility, in the next sentence: "You'll get it done in a tenth of the time with an indiginous guide."

"Huh?" Harry asked. _Did all Slytherins pick up Snape's tendency to use excessively long words?_

"I'll join you, and give you a proper tour." She said, and then continued, "I'm Cecilia."

Harry nodded, and waited until they were outside the common room door. "You don't seem to care... about my history?" He found himself asking.

"My name's Cecilia, and it means blind."

"Who would name their child blind?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"My parents, obviously." She said with a giggly smile. "I'll treat you as if you didn't mean to do any of that - you were barely a year old, for goodness sakes!"

Harry smiled back, "True enough."

"Be warned, you won't like it if you get on my bad side," Cecilia said.

"Justice is blind," Harry agreed.

"I knew you had something in that mind of yours!" Cecilia smiled.

"It's why I'm not in Gryffindor." Harry smirked back.

Cecilia ground to a halt. Then she grabbed for Harry's robe, and pulled him close to her side. "Not so loud with that. In fact, don't mention that to anyone, ever."

Harry strove to look innocent, "Why not?"

"It's the sort of thing that someone might use against you, of course." Cecilia said, "Never give knowledge of yourself away for free." Cecilia pinned him with her dark brown eyes. "That's the sort of knowledge some might kill for."

Harry nodded, keeping up a steady stream of questions about mundane bits of the castle (most of which he already knew the answer to from Hermione.) That was well and good, though, because it just meant he had more time to plan an escape.

The Library! Harry thought, almost as they'd reached it. There were several small exits from the library - one with what looked like badger-moles around the edges - that no one except Harry had ever found. Harry supposed most people didn't have a Hermione insisting that they go to the library and study. Still, this was the perfect opportunity.

And hadn't Cecilia been reading when he'd interrupted?

Entering the Library, Harry made his eyes big and round. "Can I stay here until breakfast?" He asked excitedly.

"Sure," Cecilia said, seeing nothing wrong with this, "But take care where you step. There's a forbidden section that is not for First Years."

Harry nodded firmly. He knew all about that section.

Perhaps not so oddly, there were Ravenclaws in the library, and so Harry had to take a circuitous path to the badger-mole entrance. He exited quietly and stepped into a nearby classroom.

_How powerful am I?_ Harry asked himself, and then began to cast.

He quickly found that he'd forgotten the exact twist of a third of the first year spells, but also that a few that he was certain of, he just couldn't pull off. That's to say, the spell just went _wrong_. Counterspells, luckily, weren't a problem. He could manage a few of the second year spells, but they were the ones that he'd used most often in his previous life.

It definitely wouldn't be enough to save him from a seventh year.

Not that he'd expected that to work, anyway. But it was worth a try.

[a/n: Review? I'm not sure how overprotective the Slytherins are going to be of First Years. Thoughts?]


	12. Flinty Respect

Harry snuck back into the library the same way he'd snuck out, and, shortly thereafter, was led down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

_Time to gamble_, Harry thought._ Time to trust._

Pity I've never been good at that.

Now what on the table looks least likely to be poisoned? Harry thought, even as he scanned the bits and bobs of food. Maybe he could just have some asparagus and leeks? And a bit of mashed potato? He looked up and down the table, but breakfast was always greasy, greasy meat, and he knew his stomach couldn't handle that. Or eggs. Euggh. Even when he had to cook them, Harry couldn't stand eggs.

Potter never noticed the dark gaze of the Potions Master from the High Table. Instead, he was drawn into conversation with the rest of the first years, who had all arrived early - courtesy of their 5th year prefect being an early riser. Harry was glad that he hadn't had his door banged in - he'd never been good at waking up when someone else commanded it.

Draco, luckily, took up most of the oxygen in the conversation. He'd happily prattle along about any observation he'd happened to make, and didn't much care if the only response he got was grunts from Goyle or Crabbe. Harry thus didn't have to mention that he didn't know who the Ballycastle Bats were, or ask why exactly we should care if Griselda Marchbanks was fit to be tied about Veronica's new look. (whoever Veronica was).

Classes were just as he remembered them. More boring now that he'd taken them, of course. He had to listen through again - and these were safety lectures, for everything except History. History, Harry found, was easy to take good notes in. It was amazing what "This Will Save Your Life" will do to create positive incentives, after all.

Lunch was the same, a simple meal for Harry - a bit of hot broth, some bread, some more potatoes. Goyle attempted to interest Harry in some bloody red meat, but Harry politely declined...

After dinner, the fifth year prefects escorted them back to their Common Room. Harry was starting to see why Slytherins were so rarely seen in the rest of the castle - they had a tendency to close ranks, and that just made it easier to do things down in the dungeons. Why tell someone that you needed a private classroom on the 7th floor? They'd just have to accompany you up there, after all.

The Common Room was filled with Slytherins - though clearly not all of them. Harry's eyes found Flint, though, his truculent, craggy face easily visible. He approached Flint and his cronies (they were tossing snitches around, clearly not the studious, diligent Slytherins). Harry stood there, fighting not to fidget.

Eventually, Flint looked up - although Harry was perfectly aware that Flint had known of Harry Potter's approach since the moment he'd stepped towards the trio. It was a blatant powerplay - and one that Harry heartily approved of. _I don't care who you are, you're still nothing to me._ It was better than mindless adulation. Harry would, truly, rather be buck on the totem pole. It was the right place for a first year.

"What do you want?" Flint growled, his stony eyes making this less of a question than a demand that Harry buzz off.

"I need a favor." Harry said, gratified that he'd kept the quaver out of his voice - and that it would sound as if he was trying to do so.

"What's in it for me?" Flint growled back, crossing his arms.

_There! _Harry thought, internally glowing with satisfaction. _Just the opening I need._

"You can't play Quidditch without good grades, can you?"

Flint snorted, "And what, you think you can do Owl-level Transfiguration?"

Harry smiled back, "No, but History of Magic homework doesn't require more than reading a lot."

Flint nodded, "I need at least two subjects."

Harry shot back, "Astronomy, then."

Flint nodded, looking as shrewd as he ever had on the pitch. And considering some of the Slytherins' famed "sneaky plays", that was quite shrewd. "So, you'll do my homework. How do you plan on helping me pass the tests?"

Harry smiled, "My cousin was a bit of a Dud."_ Understatement, that._ "I'm pretty good about boiling down what needs to be studied, from all the worthless stuff that the teacher just finds interesting."

Flint smiled, "Our teacher just talks about the Goblin Wars. The OWLs are on the past 400 years of history."

_Great._ Harry said, "I bet I can't hurt your chances, can I?"

Flint laughed, and it sounded like the start of an avalanche, growing in volume until his friends looked at Harry too.

"What's this favor?" Flint asked.

"Protection." Harry said, "I don't think that stunt I pulled as a fifteen month baby won me many friends."

Flint nodded, "Hope you don't expect me to fight seventh years."

Harry smirked, "Not in the open, at least, and not by endangering yourself."

Flint said, "You'd do better if you hired more than just me."

Harry grinned, "How about the full Quidditch team? Same deal as you're getting... assuming that's about three years of material?"

Flint nodded, "Fifth, Sixth, and Third. Caid Carrow won't need your help, but she might join anyway out of pure solidarity."

Flint's cronies cracked up about that.

Flint leveled a flat look at them, "Caid will 'reconsider' if I put her spot up for grabs, won't she?"

His friends shut up and looked thoughtful at that.

Flint leaned forward and asked, "What are you going to do about that duel, then?"

Harry shrugged, "I've got a plan."

Flint responded, "Oh?"

Harry smirked, "I'm going to lose."

Flint laughed loud enough that the couch he was sitting on shivered under his weight. "Homework's due in a week. Finish it, and then we'll see how well you've done."

Harry couldn't fault Flint for not wanting to put the cart before the horse. Harry needed Flint a lot more than Flint needed Harry.

[a/n: Leave a review?

I can't stand how often "Harry in Slytherin" turns into "Harry can beat EVERYONE" or "Harry is smarter/stronger than the First years" - yeah, if he was, the third years would take the time to take him down a peg.]


	13. Perfect Timing, Malfoy

Harry had a trick or two up his sleeve. But he wanted to do this right, and to do it right had to look like he hadn't been ... cheating. Not that Slytherins seemed to care about cheating... other houses.

It was why he was here in the Library. He'd gotten here with a fifth year who was busy panicking about not having studied for Transfiguration enough. It was only the first week, Harry had wanted to reassure. But... he remembered what it was like to be a fifth year, and figured that without Hermione, the Slytherin was probably better off studying.

Harry had a stack of History of Magic books that was higher than he was tall. Well, he gingerly put half of them down beside him.

He couldn't help but look over at Hermione, just as much a duck in water in the library as Harry was not. He was jealous, for a moment, before he looked harder. Hermione didn't ... look happy to be there. Like, this was sanctuary just as much as anything.

That, Harry was familiar with. He'd hidden in the school library (and the public one) early and often. Dudley hated the library, and there were always books for Harry to read.

Which just brought to mind, who was Hermione hiding from?

Probably the girls in her dorm - and maybe Ron as well. The rest of the boys hadn't cared enough about her know-it-all ways to really care about insulting her. But Ron? Ron saw it as a personal affront that someone corrected him. And, Hermione might not know it wasn't because she was a Muggleborn, either.

Still, it wasn't that which had Harry standing up out of his seat.

It was a perfectly placid Hermione, who nonethless looked so miserable.

Surely he couldn't hurt her mood, just by saying something nice?

Harry was half-up out of his seat, when Draco appeared across from him.

"Harry!" Draco Malfoy said, "How lovely to see you!"

The former-eleven-year-old in Harry wanted a scrap. The planning, scheming Slytherin side wanted to punch Draco in the face for ruining a perfectly good opportunity. And the shy kid that Harry'd been, noticed Hermione's eyes flicking over them both. _Probably lumping us both into the same barrel._

"Want to study for History of Magic?" Harry said, smiling placidly. There was nothing so boring as History of Magic, and that had been Gryffindors talking. Malfoy had probably studied this from when he was four.

"What on?" Malfoy said, his pompous manner still cladding every word.

Harry gave a mental shrug, and started to explain.

"Why are you working on fifth year work? Have you even read the first year book?" Malfoy asked.

Harry gave a shrug, not wanting to commit to telling Malfoy any of his plans, even the ones that would come out within the week. Bastard had probably stolen his chance to talk with Hermione.

And Harry needed, wanted, Hermione to be his friend. She was worth giving Malfoy the shove, and always had been and always would be.

[a/n: Leave a review?]


	14. Tame Little Dog and Poor Little Rich Boy

Harry had enough to study that he wished he could excuse just popping off to the kitchens and getting a snack. He didn't want to go down to breakfast, and deal with everything and everyone _staring_.

He had better things to do.

He was also starting to understand why half the Ravenclaw table was generally covered with books. History of Magic wasn't hard, but it was extensive. And almost none of it was what Binns said it was. Oh, he hadn't lied, but he hadn't talked about anything except Goblins!

Harry had just found a very interesting memoir about Rukbat Black, too. He hadn't realized nonfiction could be this interesting - but a modest Slytherin in the Ministry was a scintillating read.

"Potter," Theo Nott's voice rang out.

Harry looked up. "Yeah?" he asked, and then promptly started second guessing himself. Rukbat had never used such a low-class word... but Rukbat was three hundred years dead.

"Malfoy says that we first years ought to leave you alone." Nott wasn't looking like he was very interested in following this. In fact, his hands were clenched into fists. "Wanna know what I think about that?"

Harry stood up slowly. portentously, he hoped. "No, I think I can guess."

"I'm not Malfoy's follower, Potter." Nott said, "I challenge you to a fight."

"Step inside, Nott." Harry said, lacing his voice with a note of command. Surprisingly, this actually worked. Maybe he'd managed more Snape than Dumbledore?

"I'm not Malfoy's tame little dog, whatever he's told you." Harry continued. "I don't expect to remain friends with him."

Nott blinked at that, "Why not?"

Harry refrained from making the obvious pun. "Poor little rich boy gets tired of toys pretty quickly. And I walk my own path, same as you."

Nott... considered Harry. "I've... still issued you a challenge."

Harry grinned, adding a generous dollop of bloodthirsty delight. "And I'd be _delighted_ to accept. You're clenching your fists wrong, kid."

Nott looked down at his hands, confusion on his face.

"At least let me show you how to make a fist, before I beat you bloody." Harry said, stepping into Nott's personal space. "Never put your thumb under your fingers, it'll just break when you punch." Harry showed him how to make a real fist, "And you punch with your knuckles. It hurts, too."

Nott warily looked at Harry, who'd seemed so small and weedy before. "You know a lot about this, Potter."

"Aye." Harry smiled, like the warm smile that Hagrid wore when he fed the thestrals. Just an edge of bloodthirstiness, not directed towards anyone. "It's a good thing no one heard your challenge, isn't it?"

Nott gave Harry a grateful look, "Yeah. Particularly because neither of us know a spell to defend ourselves with."

Harry nodded, and said, "You can still say you beat me up a little."

Nott looked confused.

Harry smirked, "Always leave them thinking you're weaker and dumber than you are."

Nott nodded at that, "Thanks, Potter."

Harry didn't want to be a pawn in an argument between Nott and Malfoy, and he hoped he'd managed to defuse at least one side of the conflict.

And, Rukbat's wisdom may just prove more immediately useful than he'd thought. Share a secret, deepen a friendship. Well, this friendship had been nonexistent, so Harry figured it couldn't get worse.

[a/n: Review?]


	15. Eat Meat

It seemed like every day was a grain of sand, and Harry could feel every single one sliding through his fingers.

Case in point: it was Thursday before he could even make it to the Library again. Sure, he'd had homework, and the books he'd checked out were all well and good... but still...

Was it sad that the primary thing he missed about Gryffindor was _nobody watched him all the time_?

That... wasn't true. Not really.

But he didn't want to admit how much he missed his friends. Particularly when he hadn't so much as made one friend here and now. Allies, yes - Nott would occasionally send him strange looks, even as Nott and Blaise kicked up a storm well away from Mr. Malfoy and his goons.

Harry'd managed to trail after a sixth year Slytherin, who'd been heading up to the library. He'd behaved as Harry'd expected, "Library? Yes, now step quick, I won't be late because you're along with me." And, Harry thought, as was typical, no real "I'll take you back afterward."

If the library wasn't such a common destination, Harry would have negotiated more. As it was, he just stepped quick. He remembered being a sixth year, with all the work that entailed. Looking after klutzy first years would just be a distraction.

Besides, Harry was generally of the opinion that he could look after himself.

He pulled out some History books (half for show, half for reading), stacked them in an amusing fashion on his table, and started reading. Luckily for Harry, nobody joined him at the table.

The sun was starting to set, the evening was growing late.

Harry could see Hermione, sitting in a windowseat, the sunset in her hair. It made him feel nostalgic... and in need of a break.

Well, no time like the present, Harry thought, gathering his courage.

"Hey, long time no see," Harry said, approaching Hermione with a bright smile.

"Um, hi." Hermione said, looking up at him with a slightly, but visibly confused look to her face.

"Bet you're wondering why I'm over here talking with you." Harry said, stretching his arms. "I could use a break, honestly." Harry knew Hermione, and it was best to tweak her curiosity.

"A break from what?" Hermione asked.

"My house," Harry said with a sigh. "The house of the ambitious," he continued with a bit of an eyeroll, "can be so _exhausting_..." There, he'd dangled the hook if she wanted to complain about her own house.

"I'd have figured you'd want to sit with all the other Slytherins..." Hermione said, a bit waspishly.

"Whot?" Harry said, "Don't tell me you've been drinking up all that Slytherins Are Evil nonsense - It's bigotry, plain and simple." Harry knew Hermione, knew that she'd found bigotry unpalatable whereever she'd found it.

"You should tell that to your friend Malfoy then," Hermione said, turning her nose in the air. Harry hadn't thought people actually did that. In fact, maybe they didn't, and Hermione didn't know any better than she did.

Harry plunked his butt down on the bit of the windowseat that Hermione wasn't using - aiming to look like Peter Pan. "Oi, and that'd be just brilliant, wouldn't it? Malfoy and his goons would have another kid to hate - and I'm in his House, no less."

Hermione's face visibly fell.

"Didn't say I wouldn't do it, mind." Harry hastily continued, "for a friend."

Hermione looked up, and said in a small voice, "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

"Taste of home, if nothing else," Harry said, silently thankful that they were eleven and that wouldn't come across as something... weird.

"But... I'm a muggleborn." Hermione said.

"And I'm Harry Potter, formerly known as The Freak of Privet Drive," Harry Potter said, his smile razor-edged. "I ain't exactly from around here, Toto." Harry didn't even try for the American accent. The words would do as well, it was like a private handshake.

"How in the world did you get sorted into Slytherin?" Hermione asked, with a delighted smile.

"Beats me. Something about me being destined for greatness." Harry shrugged, "People say a lot of stupid things about me, perhaps you've noticed?"

Hermione smiled, "So you haven't wrestled a troll?"

Harry smirked, "Not yet, at any rate."

Hermione extended her hand, "Friends?"

Harry smiled back, grasping her hand in a firm grip. "Friends!" And if Malfoy wanted to make an issue of this, Harry would make an example out of him.

* * *

"Prefect," Snape snapped, "My office, now." He turned from the common room, with every expectation that she would follow. His 7th year prefects were selected with care, and they knew not to cross him.

"What's your report on the third years?" Snape asked, settling in to take mental notes as she went on. It was a transparent ruse to get her to relax her guard, and it was working. He'd have to teach her better than that, of course. But for now, he'd just take advantage - some people were capable of learning from the school of hard knocks.

"I have a special assignment for you," Snape said, watching the girl straighten her back where she stood. "Mister Potter has not had a bite of red meat for the past six days. He's barely touched the chicken, even. It's your job to make sure he eats properly."

"But sir!" she said, looking flustered.

"Slytherin is a family, and families look out for one another, from the least to the greatest." Snape snapped. "Am I understood?"

She nodded, still looking vexed.

"You may feel free to blame the order on me, of course," Snape quirked his lips, in a way that would never be mistaken for a smile.

"Thank you, sir." she ground out.

Snape lived to make life difficult on his underlings. He tended to call such 'little difficulties' 'learning opportunities.'

[a/n: Whether or not Harry is capable of making an example of Malfoy, Harry will make it happen anyhow. Eventually.

Snape continues to be Snape. He does find it funny that he doesn't have to chide Potter about eating vegetables, but instead meat.

Leave a review?]


	16. Places Please

It was actually Friday, Harry thought, not without some trepidation, and a crawling sense of anticipation.

Potions Class.

With Snape.

His head of house, who hadn't so much as looked at him (at least as far as he could tell.). It was actually kind of refreshing - everyone else had something to say about his parents, except for Prof. Sprout, who'd just looked at him like he possibly _was_ some sort of prank.

_Places Please_, Harry thought with amusement, as he sat down in the front row. He'd arrived with Millicent, who liked to sit in the middling back, so he'd been quite aware that he'd be sitting up there all alone. _Let the games begin._ Harry thought with some amusement.

There were nine other Slytherins in his year. Someone would sit with him, it was just a matter of whom. Probably not Greg or Vincent, he thought - even without Malfoy's tender care, they seemed inseparable.

Harry had failed to account for Hermione arriving early. She sat in the seat beside him - seemingly unaware that she'd called him as her partner. Malfoy sat up front, on Harry's other side - shooting consternated looks at Hermione, as if he was both unsure why she was sitting there, and what the devil he was supposed to do about it. Harry supposed that poor widdle Draco Malfoy had never been taught the proper protocol for addressing Muggles camping in your Proper Place. There probably wasn't one, Harry smirked, as Muggles were supposed to know their place.

Knowing Lucius, he might have said the proper protocol was an Avada Kedavra. So, there were small mercies in the ill-manners of the Malfoy scion. Small mercies indeed.

Pansy sat beside Draco Malfoy, having entered with him and Tracey Davis. She was smartly unwilling to abandon him to whichever Gryffindor. Faye wound up sitting beside Daphne Greengrass, who was a bit stiff towards the Gryffindor, but didn't seem actively and overtly hostile.

Snape entered the room with his customary THOOM of the doors, as he threw them open. They somehow always flew shut again, which was a miracle probably created by some subtle magic.

Snape said his speech, which, as usual, was mesmerising. Harry, in his past life, had wanted to hear it again - and make sure that it was a speech, and not just something new that Snape said each term. He'd sat there, second year, and listened to the same speech as Snape gave it to the tired Hufflepuffs and impossibly eager Ravenclaws.

This time, Harry didn't take notes.

"Mister Harry Potter," Snape sneered.

"Here, sir." Harry said, careful to mind his manners.

"Our latest... celebrity." Snape sneered.

Harry looked down at the desk, and nodded, once. He hated being a celebrity, but if Snape hadn't cottoned onto that fact from the idea that Harry was in Slytherin, well, he might not. Ever.

Harry knew the answers this time, so he answered Snape's questions, perfectly.

"Potter, how is it that you know the answer to fifth year material? Have you been reading ahead?" Snape asked softly.

Harry stiffened, his shocked green eyes looking up into Snape's pits of neverending darkness. He hadn't studied ahead. There were entirely too many people who knew that.

"I find that to be unexpected, and I do so hate unexpected things. I would have expected Mister Malfoy to have read ahead, with his family's prodigious library..." Snape continued.

Harry tried to frantically plot - what have I done, what have I _done!? _

All at once it came to him.

Harry's eyes cleared, and he said firmly, "Sir, I have not read ahead in the Potions curriculum. I had enough difficulties with the first year's Potions material, that I decided it was probably for the best to attain mastery in the fundamentals."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, "How, then, did you know the answers to the questions?"

"I've been reading ahead in History of Magic, sir." Harry said.

"Five points to Slytherin," Snape said, and gestured at the board, which suddenly had a simple potions recipe on it.

Harry and Hermione got down to work.

[a/n: And so the fun begins! Harry should learn to watch how much knowledge he reveals.

Reviews, good or bad, get you more story!]


	17. Slytherin Not Superman

Harry sat down to supper that day - earlier than most of the first years, as Millicent liked to eat before Vincent and Greg made royal pigs out of themselves. Harry privately suspected that Millicent also wanted to avoid Pansy's taunts, as the girl was still a right bitch.

He definitely wasn't expecting Drue Rosier to sit across from him. She put two large slabs of prime rib on her plate, added some spinach and potatoes - and then proceeded to _switch_ with Potter's plate!

Never, in Potter's life, had someone been that stupid. His food was sacrosanct - in no small part because he _couldn't eat_ that much meat.

"Eat it," Drue informed him quietly.

Harry studied her - what form of fresh hell was this? It was a torture that Harry couldn't even buck, because she was doing it in the Great Hall. And she was a prefect. He was supposed to obey.

Harry ate slowly, swilling pumpkin juice like he was some sort of pig.

It didn't help, he felt queasy at the best of times, and this much grease was going to make him barf.

At some point, the first years had joined him, and Drue had let herself be pushed off - a bit - by Blaise and Theo. Her eyes didn't leave Harry's plate, though, so he couldn't toss some under the table - or at Greg and Vincent, who'd be glad to finish his.

Harry didn't finish the second slab of meat. Instead, he stood, suddenly, and darted out of the Great Hall. Past experience with tummy ailments ensured he knew how to move quickly without being yelled at for running, exactly. Nobody wanted to be lecturing the kid with explosive poo. It was even more embarrassing if you _were_ that kid.

Harry knew where the closest bathroom was - out the great hall, take a quick, hard right, slide down the bannister. one corridor down, take a left, and it's the first room on the left. It sounded more convoluted than it actually was, though Harry'd been more than grateful that few people seemed to use it.

Harry had knelt to pray to the porcelain throne when he heard the door open. Someone came in and shut the door to a different stall. Harry felt his gorge rise, and in the position he was in, he couldn't really stop it.

There was a lot of meat, and Harry was going to vomit up everything he shouldn't have eaten. And the potatoes and spinach, which on their own were harmless.

"Are... are you okay?" the kid with large feet (probably normal-sized, just older, Harry mentally corrected).

"Stomach doesn't feel good," Harry said firmly, "I'll be fine."

Harry returned to the Great Hall, but did not re-enter, instead waiting around for the first Slytherin (currently labeled as 'victim') to be available. He 'needed directions' to the library, and who could possibly be so impolite as to say no to a first year?

* * *

Prof. Snape was not thrilled to hear that one of his first years was vomiting in a public restroom. His own eyes had told him that his prefect was overfeeding the boy, but in the Great Hall was not the time to reprimand his prefect; he had to give the impression of trust, which she ordinarily exceeded greatly.

Prof. Snape was exceedingly less thrilled to hear that one of the Hufflepuffs had grown brave enough to tell him of Potter's plight. Oh, boo hoo, Poor Potter, Snape thought dourly, and with more than a trace of venom.

Still, one did not just lop off a branch because it was inconvenient. One bent the branch, one persuaded the tree into symmetry.

Snape lurked at the entranceway to the Slytherin Common Room, waiting for either Potter or Rosier. Potter was the more likely to surface first, Snape thought - Slytherin children tended to prefer their rooms, as anyplace else they were saddled with older students.

[a/n: Reviews, as always, mean more story. Drue hasn't had to deal with episodes of starvation before, not in any of her goslings. She thought Potter was being markedly willful, and responded accordingly. As the title says, being Slytherin generally means better at reading other people. What it does not mean is that everyone's superman. Snape will set her right.]


	18. Dealing Double

Harry Potter was not heading towards the Slytherin Common Room.

He was in the library, which was fairly normal for him, in this timeline. In this continuity.

He'd gotten out another tome (600 pages long), and was walking through the library, absently flipping pages. It was a ruse, mostly. The pictures were fascinating, honestly, but Harry had bigger things on his mind. Namely, finding a certain Ravenclaw.

There. Chang Biyu - her name meant jasper, a pretty, rust-red stone. She was more like a rat, Harry had always thought. For the Chinese admired rats, in a way that Westerners never did. Little small things, that moved quickly, and knew their place.*

Harry approached her table, from the opposite side. Since she was reading, Chang did not notice. Harry Potter coughed lightly.

Chang looked up, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at seeing a Slytherin first year approach.

Harry gave a genteel, formal bow.

Chang raised an eyebrow. "Few Slytherins can muster a proper greeting."

"Few people care to look outside their preconceptions." Harry responded. "How better can I display filial piety than by treating all those I encounter with the respect they deserve?"

Chang smiled a thin smile, "Am I then, an honored elder in your eyes?"

"Of course. Your talent outshines mine, and I wish to learn from you." Harry said concisely.**

"Oh? What manner of skills might I enlighten you with?" Chang's thin lipped smile was tight. As if, like Hermione, she was used to having people ask her for things.

"I would like to purchase some study guides for History of Magic." Harry said, phrasing it precisely and carefully. Chang wouldn't give him anything if she thought he was asking for answers to tests. Which was all that the Ravenclaws kept, as Binns never changed a test since he'd died.

"Oh." Chang said, coldly, "How much are you willing to pay?"

_She'd wanted me to be asking about something else._ Harry filed that for future consideration. "Can I get a bulk discount? I would like years three through sixth." Harry unabashedly used his big green eyes to look like a little boy (like that was hard) who really needed them.

He had surprise on his side.

Chang smirked, "Not the first year guide?" Her manner had relaxed.

Harry shrugged, "I'll learn it myself, thanks. I, however, don't think I'll have time to learn five years material in one."

Chang said, "Fifty galleons, and keep it to yourself."

_Victory. _Harry smiled back, "Slytherins_ like_ secrets. But a secret is worthless if it's shared."

Chang smiled back. "Give me three days to make copies. Meet me in the third cubby from the History section."

Harry nodded, wrinkling his nose only internally - that cubby was dusty and always made him sneeze. Also, were wizards really that incompetent? Muggles could make a copy in seconds, with the proper equipment...

The library was getting close to closing - it was nearly curfew. Harry looked around, and discovered that the three separate tables of Slytherin students had all left. Probably wanted to make it home with some margin to spare.

What to do... what to do? Harry knew he'd get in trouble if he stayed.

But if he snuck down to the Common room, he might not get in trouble. He could always try to fade into the crowd of returning Slytherins...

Was it worth it, though?

If he got caught going through the castle unsupervised... there might be more than house points on the line.

*History of Magic is already improving Harry's cultural awareness. A 4th year, she's Cho's older sister. Also, JKR, did you have to name your chinese character that stupid of a name?

**This is a far more western philosophy.

[a/n: Suggest away! Also, leave a review.]


	19. A Devil on Roller Skates

Two hours ago, Snape had loomed out of a dark corner near the Slytherin common room, and courteously (if abruptly) asked Drusilla Rosier to his office. Ten minutes and one book was all it had taken to send Miss Rosier off in a determined huff - her frustration properly directed at herself. She had been in the wrong, and was all the more determined not to fail in the future. Snape was certain it had not been an intentional powerplay - even if Potter had no doubt taken it as one. Well and good, there were few things less harmful to a near adolescent than imagined enemies.*

In the past hour and forty-five minutes, Severus Snape had counted every person who entered the Slytherin Common Room.

There was only one person left, At Large, _ten_ minutes before curfew. It was perhaps fortunate for the lad that Snape was a man with an infamously short temper - which would hopefully ensure that he scarpered along to the Common Room before it was _actually_ curfew. The lad, one Harry Potter, was more fortunate than the lone man left undecimated in the crowd, for Snape's temper was purely a conjuration of his intellect. As a Master Occlumens, Snape's actual temperment was more melancholic than choleric - which did not mean that he could not be roused to anger, but that it tended to run moon-cold and not sun-hot.

Still, it would not end well for the boy. Harry Potter.

He was already in worlds of trouble, and that was _aside_ from Snape needing to apologize to the Refugee from the Lollipop Guild.**

Oh, but Snape was already looking forward to the First Staff Meeting of the Year! The tales he could tell - he just had to pick which one! Would he tell them how Potter had been initiated into the Dark Arts by Draco Malfoy? Or how Potter was just like his father, including the distressing tendency to make fun of Snape's own nose? Perhaps Harry Potter was creating a cult of personality and had nearly swayed Flint and Goyle and Flint, and together they were plotting a takeover of Slytherin, starting from the Quidditch team?

More to the point - would any of them believe it? Spouting the last one was particularly dangerous, as Minerva McGonagall tended to lose her ever-loving mind when it came to The Game.

There's Potter now, Snape was interested to note, striding with light feet on tiptoe - quite a trick that. Perhaps more interestingly, he did not look left or right - nor seem in the least bit concerned about being followed. He was not lost, nor interested in being found.

Snape let Potter approach the door, and hiss the password. At that moment, Snape stepped out of the shadows behind Potter, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Snape had been expecting a flinch, a startle, perhaps for Potter to leap in the air.

Instead, Potter ducked, flung himself back-first at the door, fumbled pulling a wand that he did not know how to use. And then fell flat on his back in front of the entire common room. When Potter at last saw who had touched him, he opened his eyes wide, paled with an unwarranted fear, and simply said, "oh."

Miss Rosier led the laughter, inspired by her own run-in with her Head of House earlier.

Harry Potter stood - as gracefully as an adolescent might, which wasn't very, and bowed slightly, "Professor Snape, how can I help you?"

Snape studied Potter for a moment, noting that the boy's ears didn't even turn red at the tips. _A Potter with better control than a Malfoy? Will wonders never cease?_

"You have been found alone, outside the Slytherin quarters. You will come with me, and we will discuss your punishment." Snape said curtly. No need for the brat to know that Snape had spent over an hour waiting for him.

Snape said not a word while he walked Potter back to his office. It was a deliberate ploy, that Snape had used countless times to good effect. When a transgressor didn't know their crime, it would bring others to the fore - and when they were allowed to mull over well-understood crimes, they were always a bit more respectful about their deserved punishment. It never did to punish a student who didn't recognize they deserved it - that way led to defiance. Always.

Snape entered his office, with Potter at his heels. He strolled around to behind his desk (taking care to scuff his shoes a bit), and then sat, lacing his hands in front of himself. Potter stood, in a parade rest - head up, but not stiff.

"Sit," Snape advanced, and waited as Potter did so - finally betraying his nervousness by sitting at the edge of the seat. Were Potter a bit smaller his feet would be swinging...***

"Was it worth it?" Snape asked in a low voice.

Harry Potter blinked, then looked thoughtful. "Yes, sir. Personal protection is always of value, regardless of methods used."

Snape frowned at this, "Was it worth endangering your life, by walking friendless through a castle with known malevolent beings inside it? You, a child unable to cast more than the weakest of spells?"

Harry Potter frowned at this, and then looked pensive. Then he swung his feet, tipping up his toes to do it. Harry said, at last, "I made an error of time management."

Snape pushed, because that was what he did. Besides, the impudent child was in trouble. He deserved a reflection, first and foremost. "Of Time Management?" Snape mocked, his mouth twisting into a half smile.

Harry nodded, then responded without pausing, "I'd expected the Slytherins who'd been so kind as to see me to the Library to remain longer than they did."

_A matter of personal protection, in the Library? Hopefully the miserable wretch isn't hiring Gryffindors as bodyguards._ "No doubt they expected you to simply return with a different group." Snape said absently, his mind still caught on _what _Potter had been doing in the library.

"No doubt," Harry Potter returned with a trace of a rueful smile.

_And he left it there. No closer to spilling his guts than when we started._

"Do you mean for this to be the start of a _trend_?" Snape hissed at Potter, who looked back at him with satisfyingly large green eyes. "Harry Potter: The Breaker of Rules?"

"No! No, sir!" Harry Potter said, the need to correct his first response sending his second no so quickly after the first that they came across as "nono." It was not funny, it was gratifying.

"Explain to me, then, why you feel like you are above the rules?" Snape said sternly, with a quirk to the end of his question.

"I _don't_!" Harry Potter proclaimed, his high voice ringing like a bell - and there was true anger in his voice.

"Why do you think I require even seventh years to accompany each other in the halls?" Snape asked, in a low deadly tone.

"You believe we're in danger whenever we're outside the Slytherin areas?" Harry asked.

Snape was obscurely glad that it was a question. "Think harder. What help does a first year give a seventh year, by accompanying him in the halls."

Harry Potter laughed dryly, "Target practice? Bait?"

Snape snorted, "Gryffindor answers. Try again." The insult was quick, and sharp, but Potter's words were _more_. From a child with decent combat instincts, these responses showed the potential for a strategic mind. And they were not words often heard out of an eleven-year-old's mouth, no matter his circumstances.

Harry seemed to reflect on the question, for a while. Eventually, he stiffened, "You want them _as witnesses_!"

Snape nodded, "You will not find true enemies within Hogwarts, one hopes. Trusting that hope is folly, of course, but it would be inconceivable for you to make a true enemy in your first year of Hogwarts."

Harry Potter looked doubtful at this, as well he should. Snape was repeating the party line, while knowing that Potter's parents had already made him enemies that he would have to share bread with, as equals and perhaps pretended friends.

"However," Snape said in a low lilt, "there is many a spell with unforeseen consequences. Someone might intend minor mischief, and instead provoke an entire house. Slytherin will look after its own. That extends to quelling the most violent impulses, and the best way to ensure that is with witnesses."

Harry Potter raised level green eyes to Snape's own. "Thank you for explaining your rationale. In the future, I will make certain that I am with a credible witness whenever I am outside Slytherin walls."

"In this case," Snape asked, "What should you have done?"

Harry Potter sighed, and answered something Snape had not expected to hear, "I should stop being so self-involved. I could have shared elements of my plan without compromising its core, and returned with Slytherins who waited for me to complete it." Harry quirked a half-smile that reeked of amusement, "Or, if not, I could have brought the complaint to you, about their waywardness."

"Indeed," Snape said, lacing his fingers together once more. He then responded with the response that he'd anticipated Potter would give. "If you ever find yourself in a public place and are in need of an escort, I assure you a teacher will do just fine. You are not the first child to lose track of time, and you will not be the last."

Harry Potter's body seemed to relax at this.

_Now _is the time to strike.

"As for your punishment," Snape said, "We will start with a detention. I am in dire need of a cauldron-scrubber." Snape's eyes mocked Potter's sad mien. "And," Snape tapped his two fingers against his chin. "You will spend the next week in the Common Room, accompanying anyone who leaves."

Harry Potter seemed strangely unsquelched by this part of the 'punishment.'

"You will learn more of the castle, and of your fellow Slytherins - and remember how vital it is that someone, _anyone_, accompanies you _at all times_."

Harry nodded, "Thank you, sir." His eyes were bright, and sharp - they were the eyes of someone who knew what a just punishment looked like, and assessed this as being just that. _Despite_ hating cauldron-cleaning.

Snape could see Potter's energy swirling - the need to speak rising. Snape chose to wait, wondering what the boy wanted to say.

"Sir, you are an accomplished Potions Master." Harry began, the words mercifully devoid of smarm.

"That I am," Snape responded, as if they were discussing facts about the Potion of Endless Death.

"Could you obtain some poison for me? It's just that I have this duel coming up..." Harry said, his green eyes glittering gormlessly.

"I could." Snape said coldly.

"But - you won't?" Harry advanced, paused, and took Snape's absence of a response as an answer in of itself. That, naturally, was just as Snape liked it.

Harry sighed, "Better stick with Plans A and B."

Snape quirked his mouth, twisting it at the rightmost side, "Plans always seem better with a backup."

Harry asked, "Why did you decide not to help me?"

Snape leaned forward, and intoned gravely and intensely, "My reasons are my own. You should learn this about Slytherins - everyone is pursuing their own plans. Mine, in particular, are intended to benefit our House as a whole. I will not explain my plans to a first year, even assuming you had the time and patience to understand."

Harry nodded, satisfied.

Snape spoke next, "It seems I owe you an apology." This, of all things, got such a look of bewildered surprise from Harry Potter, that Snape was tempted to stop just to look at it. "My orders were not meant to see you in the bathroom vomiting up your supper." Harry Potter looked up at Snape, his eyes opening wider. He said nothing, however. "You may take your pick of the nutritional potions I have in stock. Consume one per week, and eat as much meat as you can safely stomach."

Harry Potter looked down at his feet, a moment, "Thank you, sir. No one's... no one's ever _noticed_ before."

Snape walked Harry Potter back to the Common Room. Friday next should be a decent time for Potter to scrub cauldrons. Dempsey was sure to have wrecked one by then, and the Erisian Trio was sure to have Snape ready to commit homicide from their irresponsible flirting in class.

*This Snape has never met "Harry Potter: Gryffindor", so he has No Idea. Snape's own childhood paranoia was, in his eyes, improving to both his mind and body.

**Snape is distinctly displeased with having to deal with first years problems. That's why he has prefects. He's also making fun of Potter's height.

*** Yes, it's a petitioner's stool. Most teens have their knees a good half foot off it, and wind up squatting to 'sit.' This is deliberate. Potter (and first year girls) are the only ones who might find it comfortable, and Snape doesn't expect to see them.

[a/n: Yes. Snape finds Potter in his house a Vast Source of Entertainment. Everyone else should be scared.

This chapter got long. Snape keeps on trying to fit Potter into the mould of "Eleven Year Old" - and he keeps not wanting to fit.

Leave a review?

The title's just a musing of mine.]


	20. Ball! Bouncy Ball!

[a/n: No, this does not feature Voldie-ball. That's in "Nobody Ever Asked My Birthday", which I highly suggest you read, if only for that one chapter's sake.]

Harry Potter had had an Idea. It was true, he couldn't cast most higher level Charms. Defense was completely out - Protego was nowhere near a first year's capability. However, he could do limited transfiguration... very, very slowly. The thing about transfiguration was it was more mental than anything else - if you pictured the transformation properly, you could do it. Harry just had to picture simple transfigurations. Very, very simple. Take marble. Increase Marble's size. Change Marble's Material. Change Marble's color.

Oh, yes, and take about an hour to actually accomplish each of these.

It was slow going, but snakes have oodles of patience. Harry quirked his lips - already changing to your new house, Potter? That was a low blow, but Harry didn't let his concentration waver. He'd done transfiguration under much more stress than this... hadn't he?

Eventually, he was left with one small, red ball that bounced. It was made of rubber - a substance Wizards didn't use much. And that, itself, was a tool and a sliver of information. Harry had to wonder if Malfoy would pry the reasoning out of him.

It may have been a bit gittish of Harry to want to exploit Malfoy's friendship by using them both as target practice in preparation for his ... 'duel' tomorrow. Still, Harry had the salve of knowing that Malfoy made a decent Seeker, and thus probably had the reflexes as an eleven year old to prevent his marbles from getting hit.

Or not.

Harry didn't care either way, truth be told. He knew that Malfoy's 'friendship' with Harry had an expiration date - not measured in The Dark Lord's Rising, but in Hermione's temper. Sooner or later, she was going to sit down in the library with Harry when Malfoy was already there. Harry would take the natural and responsible path, as always, but the little bigot wouldn't see it that way.

Harry shook Malfoy awake (Harry was always earliest to wake - though from Vince and Greg's expressions, they were just as used to rising with the sun, and considered him only marginally crazy for waking in the falsedawn.)

"Care for a little fun?" Harry Potter asked.

Malfoy was not awake enough to understand, instead covering his pale blue eyes with his arm, and muttering, "Mrrfl."

Harry Potter shook Malfoy again, and then pinned him to the bed with two hands on Malfoy's shoulders.

Malfoy was still mostly asleep, although his eyes were starting to almost focus.

After about three more iterations of "Toss Malfoy around on his bed, and consider tossing him on the floor for good measure"... Draco Malfoy looked up at Harry Potter, "What are you on about? It's unwizardly early in the morning. Merlin! Have you no kindly thought for your fellows at all?"

Harry Potter had to smile at that - both because he'd thought so unjustly of Draco in his past life, and because Draco's style of complaining was just as elevated as Ron's was earthy.

"Come on!" Harry said, grinning as if he knew how infectious it was. "It'll be fun!"

Draco, now wakeful enough to remember manners and curiosity, stumbled through dressing in a rather shoddy semblance of his natural order. (Ron would have pissed himself - Draco was sporting a cowlick in the back of his head, and hadn't bothered to look at a mirror.*)

"Let's find a spare classroom." Harry said, tugging Malfoy through the nearly empty Common Room.

Malfoy daintily covered a yawn bigger than his hand. It was ineffectual.

Harry found the classroom he'd wanted (Ron and Hermione and he had used it a number of times in third year) - it was covered in dust, and, more importantly, the desks had all been removed. Harry studied the hard wooden floor and the harder stone walls, before grinning and saying, "Perfect."

Malfoy, from the entryway, studied Potter, who was looking around the room from the inside. He asked curiously, "What is all this about?"

Grinning, Harry grabbed a fistful of Malfoy's robe, yanked him into the room, and with his free hand, Harry reached around Malfoy to pull the door shut.

At this point, Malfoy gave him a very dubious look, "Potter, I don't think we're old enough..."

Harry hastily swept those thoughts out of Malfoy's head by flourishing the small red ball. "Here! Catch!" Harry deliberately threw it past Malfoy, hard enough to have the ball bounce around the room.

"Did that ball just... bounce?" Malfoy asked curiously. "How did you get one of the older students to charm that? And red, too?"

"Didn't need to." Harry said, "It's just rubber." He threw the ball again, harder.

Malfoy dove to catch it, on one of the longer bounces. Unfortunately, Malfoy neatly proved that the ball would bounce off of him, too. "Hey! It bounced off _me_!"

"It'll do that," Harry said, studying the aberrant motion until it was safe to catch the ball. Harry caught it with both hands. "Wanna try again?"

Malfoy's eyes sparkled with a competitive zeal that Harry recognized from the Quiddich pitch. "You're using both hands." Malfoy smirked. "I'll have it next."

Malfoy was right, of course - and they both slowly got the hang of the thing, rolling and bouncing and jumping around the entire room - even occasionally hitting the walls with a shoulder or two.

It was tons of fun - and Harry learned that his reflexes were still sharp, even if he was naturally more clumsy as an eleven year old.

Harry had expected Malfoy to be babbling stuff at him as they walked to breakfast. Malfoy had never seemed the quiet type, even under the best of circumstances. And Harry had simply expected to nod along and note things to read about later.

Malfoy, instead, said just before they entered the Great Hall (and greeted the beloved public), "Good luck tomorrow, Potter."

*Yes, you silly ducks, there were reasons Malfoy used so much hairgel.

[a/n: Harry really doesn't have much here. He now has a little red bouncy ball, after hours of work. Perhaps you could see how to win a duel (or at least match Drue) using this and an entire week, but Harry had Better Things To Do.

Author's Writing Tip: Know what you want, in terms of Character's Power, but be willing to bend. Here, I liked this chapter so much that I was willing to bend the "Harry's just got first year spells, although he has all the knowledge you'd expect of a graduated-6th-year fugitive.")

Malfoy was also going to get into "I don't think I like boys like that..." Being the mannerly boy he was, he was trying to let Potter down gently. Bear in mind that he's been cornered by girls before. Narcissa has him drilled.

Reviews?]


	21. Silence bodes ill

Draco Malfoy was unusually silent during breakfast, and seemed a bit pensive.

Not what Harry had been expecting after such athletic feats, to be sure.

Harry spent the time listening to Theo Nott, who didn't seem to be quite as sexist as Malfoy was.* Malfoy disdained talking to girls on general principle, it seemed (although he could simply be trying to 'hold himself aloof'). Theo was content to talk with Daphne and Millie (apparently Millicent was an Adult Name that Millie despised on general principle. It was certainly not because it reminded her of Sleeping Beauty, a story she'd undoubtedly never heard of.) Harry was sure, if he'd been a girl, that Millie would have been his best friend. She was ... solid and stalwart. And didn't like pink. Her family wasn't important, and she didn't seem to have designs on "marrying up."

As it was, Harry was loathe to even consider 'true friendship' in the Lair of the Snakes. This was a house of convenience, and Harry was a distinctly inconvenient boy, his awkward birth and first years notwithstanding. He was not about to _apologize_ for living in the Muggle World, it was an advantage.

They'd figure out he was a Muggle Lover soon enough. And they'd be mostly mistaken, but Harry wouldn't correct them. Harry liked people, on general principle. Certain individuals were mean, nasty or downright ugly; but, in general, people were okay, magical or no.

* * *

After Sunday breakfast, Harry sat in the Common Room, idly working on History of Magic and sharply observing the dynamics in the room. Snape had been right to set this as a punishment - it gave Harry an impetus to look at his House, to study it from the inside.

There were large, important alliances and ancient enemies that Harry was quite sure he was missing.

It didn't matter that much, though, to a first year's eyes. Alliances and enemies were variable, during a student's Hogwarts years. At least Harry thought he'd seen some Known to be Light families associating with Known to be Dark families. Abbot had an older cousin who was in Slytherin. Harry didn't want to think what a Hufflepuff/Slytherin family dinner was like.

"Let's hit the library," someone said - Harry ambled over, and heard Priss** (_never_ Prissy) pleading with her friends, "Come on, I need to finish my Potions assignment."

"You'll need to finish it tomorrow too, it's a toughie." Sonia said, flipping a page in her current grimoire.

Harry cleared his throat, "I could go up with you..."

Priss looked at him, frowning, "Why would you do that?"

Harry shrugged, "It's part of my punishment for walking around unsupervised."

Sonia finally looked up from her book, whistling lowly. "Who caught you?"

"Snape," Harry said, trying to look miserable.

Priss smiled at him, "Stop trying to pretend he beat you bloody. Snape's pretty level with the punishments. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise needs to be knocked down a peg."

Harry shrugged as they walked out of the common room, "Still got detention," he grumbled.

Priss gently pushed his shoulder, "You Broke A Rule. You had it coming."

"I know!" Harry snapped back. "Makes it worse, not better." And it really did. Harry had been known to nourish a sense of injustice with the Dursley's punishments, which would keep him working hard just to spite the poor benighted fools.

* * *

At the library, Harry had just begun to look around for Hermione - she had a habit of choosing out of the way tables that Harry hadn't remembered from when he'd known her. Thinking about it, Harry thought that she was probably trying to stay out of people's way, and not attract attention. He was _very familiar_ with the concept, after all.

Rounding a corner, he nearly ran into Draco Malfoy, who it appeared had been looking for him. "What's rubber?" Draco demanded, in a low voice softer than a whisper.

Harry paused, taking a moment to appreciate Malfoy's show of vulnerability, "It's a Muggle material. Works like our impervious spells, but doesn't wear out. Very good against Scottish rain."

Draco Malfoy frowned, "And it _bounces_?"

Harry says, "Yeah."

Draco Malfoy asked, "Do you - is there any way I could learn more about it?"

Harry shrugged, a current of mischief running through his body, "Try Hermione Granger. She devours books by the dozen, after all."

Draco Malfoy's face was a study in - disgust, dismay, and amusement. It was very funny, but Harry kept his amusement buried deep. "You know she's a mudblood?" Draco Malfoy said, as if that wasn't obvious by the pens she preferred to use rather than quills.

"Yes. I suspect she's going to be first in our class - or die trying." Harry said this levelly. "Wiser not to throw insults at the wickedly clever. They may outsmart you."

Draco Malfoy nodded, and looked thoughtful.

_That_ \- had gone rather better than Harry had thought it would.

If only the rest of the day would go so well...

*This is a rather serious mistake Harry is making. He's judging an eleven year old with adult eyes. To many eleven year olds, girls are _icky_.

**Priscilla is the long name. Priss is favored because it sounds a little like hiss, and - with the right look - sounds more capable and even boyish.

[a/n: Leave a review? "the rest of the day" is the duel, of course.

Draco has been given a lot to think about, and Harry's managed to not blow a fuse at an eleven year old's actions, who _really_ doesn't know any better.

Go Harry! Act like a 15 year old!]


	22. Drue

Harry Potter stood and looked at Drue Rosier. She didn't look as evil as Lord Voldemort.

Still, she was about to duel a first year.

Harry sat, sprawled really, on a loveseat near the edge of the common room, away from the fire.

He could see Snape's disillusioned form, which made him feel better - at least until he figured out _why_ it made him feel better. The only thing he'd got to show for 6 years of schooling was the ability to see what someone was doing - while they were doing it. So, he'd at least know that Drue was trying to Stupefy him.

Harry felt really stupid.

Winifred stood up, "I'll be the Master of Ceremonies. Potter, Drue, you're up."

Harry approached the center of the room, as did Drue. She was dressed in formal dueling robes. Harry just had his normal clothes - which suited him just fine, as he didn't want to look like he'd planned on this.

They both bowed, inside the circle of protection.

Harry stowed his wand (no need to risk it breaking), and Drue started to cast.

It wasn't for nothing that Harry had learned how to dodge - but it wasn't worth much.

He dodged the first two spells, and then all he felt was pain.

Sometimes it tingled, sometimes he screamed - fire shot through his veins, and washed over his body.

At some point he felt like he was drowning.

Five minutes in, and Drue called a slight ceasefire, studying him. "Had enough, pauper Potter?"

Harry smirked, "Not even close."

Drue didn't ask again - her onslaught kept moving, flowing over him in a cascade of magic.

When she stopped again, Harry's eyes caught the crowd. Some were cheering in naked bloodlust (Harry was bleeding with a few small cuts), but a large portion of the younger students just eyed the fight carefully.

"It only gets worse from here," Drue said.

"There's always an easy way to win," Harry smirked, "Just knock me out." And it was true, so why was Drue spending so much time?

"And here I was enjoying the target practice." Drue said, sheathed her wand, and sent a wandless, wordless Stupefy at Harry's head. He dodged, and then everything went black.

Harry woke a while later, Addison cheerfully telling everyone that "He's fine. No demerits for our resident brain." Addison even gave Harry a warm smile as she helped him to his feet.

The entire room seemed to be looking at Harry... subtly. It was a nice, refreshing change from staring.

"Oi! Potter!" one of the heavyset beaters asked.

Harry smiled back at Addison, and then ambled over.

"Yer the right sort, Potter, nevermind you weigh as much as a feather." the other beater said.

The rest of the Quiddich team erupted in raucous laughter.

Harry appreciated the subtlety they were demonstrating - a mild gesture of support that they could withdraw at any time. He'd better have the homework ready before the end of the day.

[a/n: reviews? Harry's used to pain, and this wasn't the Cruciatus.]


	23. Rats gnaw on sleeping fingers

[a/n: content warning for the squeamish]

Days later, Harry had a dream. He was chained to a dungeon wall, and there were rats. He had to stay awake, or they'd start in on his fingers and toes. He jerked awake to the feel of teeth nipping at his thumb. He looked down and saw the blackened remnant of the digit. Necrotic, diseased, dying, dead. He had to stay awake. They would come for him... wouldn't they? Magic fixes everything. He would stay awake. Harry jerked again, pulling himself out of slumber by sheer determination (and the pain of another rat-bite).

Most people woke from nightmares screaming. Not this time, not for Harry. He woke, and shook, shivering in his bed. He wanted hot chocolate. He wanted Remus Lupin... Warm and kindly Remus, who was not dead. Harry felt himself stiffen, waking with impotent energy.

Harry looked at the moon - it was past three in the morning. Perhaps he could nip down to the kitchen - it was just a few halls away...

Harry stood and stretched. Then he entered the common room, relieved that at this time of night, he didn't need to watch for rats. They'd strike in the daytime, skulking at the edges of the room, sending spells towards Harry that he _could_ dodge... most of the time.

* * *

"Mister Potter, what have I told you about roaming the hallways?" Snape said, somehow exiting a brewing chamber as Harry trundled along (all food tucked away in pockets, a lesson Dudley had taught him repeatedly).

"That it would be exceedingly unwise to do so without plausible deniability." Harry responded. Hermione had a few Sherlock Holmes novels that Harry had been reading, and the diction was rubbing off.*

"Why, then, are you trundling around in the small hours of the morning?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged.

Snape settled in place, "We can stand here all night, if you like. Or you could tell me. It won't save you a hiding, but might spare you a few strokes."

Harry looked up at Snape, and felt like a fly frozen in amber. Snape... had said that completely mildly. Uncle Vernon never managed to threaten (or punish) without being steaming mad. So... it felt very, very odd to see Snape, of all people, _bargaining_ with Harry for information. Not threatening, not demanding.

Harry studied Snape, the tall and lanky man who tended to hide his thinness under thick woolen robes. He seemed serious. "Ever had a bad dream?" Harry started, not expecting a response. "I wanted some warm milk..."

"You did?" Snape said, raising his eyebrows.

"I haven't tried it before!" Harry said, "Nott said that I was such a baby about my dreams that I should just have a mug of warm milk, and then I could sleep like the baby I was."

Snape studied Harry Potter, "You don't seem offended."

Harry Potter shrugged, "I was disturbing his sleep. He gave me a concrete suggestion, buried within a pointed barb. Don't take offense when someone is trying to help."

Snape snorted, lightly, "Wise words for one so young. Where _on earth_ did you think you'd be obtaining the warm milk from?"

"The-" Harry broke off. _I must be losing my touch. I'm not supposed to know where the kitchens are. The Twins had told me, last life, and even that had taken a while. __I don't even have the excuse of 'accidentally seeing' the Twins entering. I also wager none of the Slytherins know._

Harry shifted back and forth from foot to foot.

Snape seemed content to let him manufacture an answer. _Probably also content to punish me for lying, if I'm going to be so bloody obvious about it._

"My friend Hermione Granger tends to forget to eat when she's busy working -" Harry started. "She mentioned that there are Hogwarts kitchens somewhere in the cellars." Harry smiled, "I figured I'd find them and fix myself some warm milk."

Snape looked at him, and - for a wonder - said nothing about his friendship with a Muggleborn Gryffindor. "I believe we can square these books by giving you four detentions. Do not break this rule again, or you will find yourself saddled with a month's worth, at least."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said, gratefully. He was well aware of how sharp Snape's tongue tended to be, and knew that he'd gotten off relatively clean.

*Harry has free time. Harry likes mysteries, and I like using my vocabulary while writing. Everyone wins!

[a/n: The rats being mentioned are some of the older Slytherins, who have taken to using Harry as target practice.

If you think this is going unnoticed, I invite you to think again.

How believable is Harry's excuse to Snape? Leave a review?]


	24. The devil may care

Harry Potter was standing in detention, again. He'd grown very used to this, over the course of years with Snape.

This time, however, seemed subtly different. Which was troubling.

Harry had expected himself to be somehow let off, or given lighter duty - but it turned out that cauldrons were cauldrons, and Snape still had a ton of soiled ones. It was almost to the point that Harry wished more people melted them like Neville. You didn't have to clean those.

It probably ruined Snape's budget though.

Harry looked up at Snape, who was scrawling his cramped handwriting across pages of chickenscratch homework. "Does the school allocate funds for you to buy new cauldrons, if students ruin them?"

Snape shook his head, "A limited amount. Never enough to last a month."

Harry sighed, "I suppose that explains why even this shoddy piece of work needs to be cleaned."

"Yes, Mister Potter, it does."

Harry hadn't minded cleaning at the Dursleys. It was quiet work. He'd minded getting reprimanded when he'd gotten everything done right, or being assigned inhumane amounts of work.

It felt better, here, to work for something - even if it was grouchy old Snape. Harry thought he might be a grouch, if his students kept costing him pence and pounds, too.

Besides, Harry had plans to make. Now that he was 'somewhat' friends with Hermione (she _didn't_ have anyone else, Harry thought, and friendship takes time to develop), he needed to spring Sirius Black from prison.

Harry had knowledge that he shouldn't have. Knowledge that Snape, or Dumbledore, might pull from his mind - if, that is, they thought to look. He couldn't tell them, or give them reason to suspect him. He'd have to be indirect - the Slytherin way.

Ruddy good job I'm in Slytherin this time round, isn't it? Harry thought sarcastically. I just need to figure out how...

Harry had the clean way of doing it - the Malfoys were certainly powerful enough to move mountains in the Ministry. He just didn't know if they _cared_. At all, about anything. Harry wasn't willing to even condemn them as zealots, as he'd been in a previous life. Life was complicated, and brands are forever.

Harry also had the blood in the water method of freeing Sirius Black - it would probably mean the fall of Fudge's government. But Sirius would be free, and Harry wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys. Harry didn't mind Fudge's government falling, either. The worst thing about the man was that he was such a coward - the corruption was one thing, but Fudge would sway in the wind. Harry couldn't even bribe the man to own a conviction.

Huh. How about that, the cauldrons are clean.

[a/n: I did consider the idea of having Harry discuss Sirius with Snape, in order to have Snape say, "Isn't there someone else, someone without a personal vendetta, who would like an order of merlin?" In the end, though, Snape's a mindreader. Harry's trying not to be exceptional around the man.

Leave a review?]


End file.
